Family Tradition
by FoolofaTook17
Summary: Remember that scene in the movie with the condoms in the toilet? Well, one of those broke. And this is the story of the newest member of the Durden family, the leader of a new generation of Fight Clubs.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **If I did own _Fight Club_, that'd be pretty amazing. But I don't. And the text in italics down there is from Chuck Palahniuk, _Fight Club, _page 208. Yep.

* * *

_Because every once in a while, somebody brings me my lunch tray and my meds and he has a black eye or his forehead is swollen with stitches, and he says:_

_"We miss you Mr. __Durden__."_

_Or somebody with a broken nose pushes a mop past me and whispers:_

_"Everything's going according to the plan."_

_Whispers:_

_"We're going to break up civilization so we can make something better out of the world."_

_Whispers:_

_"We look forward to getting you back."_

I'm back, all right.

* * *

My dad's back. He doesn't like to admit it, but I know that he is. Because Mom says so. Daddy's home. It's been just me and Mom for the past seven or eight Christmases—she tries to act like nothing's wrong.

Right.

After school, I come home and dump my backpack full of useless information at the foot of the stairs and sit at the window and wait. I'm not sure what I'm waiting to see. A taxi. Maybe a bus. He'll walk right up the steps to our door, perhaps. I have to stay on my toes. I can't miss it.

Some days Bobby comes over, and he sits with me, staring at nothing. A UPS truck speeds by, comes creaking to a halt, and a man in too-short brown shorts lumbers out of the doorless truck, clutching a package. My heart races for a split second; could it be him, him in disguise? As a surprise for Mom and me?

He drops the package at our neighbor's door, slips a receipt into the screen, rings the doorbell, and walks away. The keys turn in the ignition, and he's gone. Not my dad.

We'll have to wait.

Mom comes and sits next to me sometimes, a plate of cookies by her side. They're always burnt, so I never eat them. She doesn't, either.

You look just like your father, she tells me.

"Really?"

She nods. With a fat lip and a bloody nose, you two would be twins.

"Why?"

She pauses. …Dad knew how to get his way.

"Oh."

She takes a draw on her cigarette. Oh.

After two straight weeks of waiting, a yellow taxi with a broken back window rolls up into our driveway, coughing smoke and most likely destroying our already-destroyed ozone layer. A man with spiky dark hair emerges and stretches slightly. He looks just like me.

He's me. He's Dad.

I'm at the door before he's even approached the steps, and I fight the urge to run up and hug him. Mom told me that Dad was never the hugging type.

So I wave. I wave, and he sees me. He doesn't smile, but he does smirk, and he holds his hand up.

Hi.

Marla, he says, his voice a long drawl. Hey. They embrace in front of me for a few seconds. I feel Dad muss my hair.

"Hi, Dad."

How've you been, kid?

"Okay."

'S good. Mom been feeding you?

"Yeah. She always burns her cookies, though."

Dad laughs. No surprise there.

He jams his small bag into Mom's arms. I'm going out.

You'll be back soon?

Maybe.

And he's gone. Mom dumps his bag next to my backpack and lights another cigarette. She really really loves cigarettes, maybe even more than she loves Dad.

You never know.

I go up to my post in front of the window again and watch Dad walk casually down the street. He's walking down towards Lou's, a place Mom talks about on the phone, but a place I've never been allowed to go to.

Maybe I'll go now. Try and get some father-kid bonding in, like the other kids at school do with their fathers.

I wonder what that's like. I wonder if it's even worth it.


	2. Chapter 2

**thepinkmartini: **thanks! glad you liked them, and that line.

**FoXyLoXyPaNtS:** thanks! i was kinda nervous that it wouldn't work out well, but i'm glad you liked it.

a/n: sorry for my horribly sucky lack of updates :(. the usual stuff happened-school, college searches, and a massive thing of writers block.

* * *

I chickened out; I didn't go to Lou's.

Dad would've been pissed off, anyway. If he caught me there, I could forget going ever.

See ya.

Dad comes home at around midnight. I'm not supposed to be up, but I hear him drag his feet through the door from my bedroom. Nobody needs to know I was up.

I know where to step in our house so that the floor doesn't creak, and the doors won't moan. I maneuver myself around, see Dad sitting at the kitchen table. I can't see his face, but his shirt is red.

I'm sure he was wearing a white one when he left.

He sighs, takes a long drag on his freshly lit cigarette. Feet kicked up on the table, crossed at the ankles.

Shit, he breathes. His smoldering cigarette drops to the floor. He lazily uncrosses his ankles, stamps it out, then reassumes his position. What time is it…

Twelve oh seven.

He gets up suddenly and makes his way toward the refrigerator. Snatches a piece of paper out from underneath a magnet, his eyes reading quickly, bloodshot.

Inaudible. He smacks the paper on the kitchen table, upset with it. I can see my school's logo flash from the top. My report card.

He stretches and yanks off his shirt. It lands on the floor with a wet smacking sound.

It was definitely white when he left.

What? No, he's not watching me.

My eyebrows come close together. He's not talking to me.

It's too late for him to be up!

He moans and drops his head between his knees, coming dangerously close to hitting his head on the table. His hair shakes violently, like a dog that's just been doused with thirty gallons or so of water.

Stop, stop stop, he mutters. Shut up.

Scary.

I got rid of you. His voice is quiet. Leave me alone. What are you talking about; Marla's upstairs!

He starts to hit himself upside the head. My eyes get wide.

Help Dad. Somebody help him.

Me? No, not me. I can't help him. I meant someone else. Lou. Anybody but me. He's gonna kill himself in our kitchen, and then Mom's gonna come down and see him here.

Dead. With his red shirt that used to be white.

What're you doin' up, buddy? I whirl around, there he is behind me, grinning.

"N-nothing, I was just…I couldn't sleep, and…"

That's okay. Want a snack? He nudges me forward into the kitchen. He doesn't think I notice him kicking the shirt into the corner, but I do.

"Dad, what do you do at Lou's all the time?"

He shrugs. Play cards.

"Can I come sometime?"

He musses my hair again. It's not little-kid cards.

"Oh."

But we'll hang out sometime soon. I promise.

"Really?"

Hell. Yes.

"Just you and me, though, right?"

Man to man.

"Cool."

All right. Now get to bed before your mom finds you up so late. And blames me for it.

* * *

"Your dad's a little bitch!" Eddie yells. "He couldn't even get away with it; he went to jail!"

"Shut up, Eddie."

"Your dad's a failure at life! Just like you. You little worm!"

"Shut up, Eddie."

"You gonna make me?" He takes a step forward and his finger jabs hard into my chest. "You. Gonna. Take. Me. On. Kid?" His finger makes contact with each word.

Dad wouldn't want me to fight, would he? But he's a man. I want to be a man. Mom might get pissed, sure, but she's Mom.

I'm not a girl.

My dad's not a bitch.

I punch Eddie hard in the face.

Eddie's got a broken nose.

He stares at me for a few seconds, stunned. Did I just hit him? The blood cascading out of his nose like a faucet—is that because of me? Did I do that?

Damn.

"Oh, you're going down, jackass." He pounces on me, I flinch as my head smacks down hard on the concrete. I shield my face with my hands, but Eddie manages to poke through. I jerk my knee in and kick it up into his groin. He moans and yields just enough for me to roll over on top of him.

"My. Dad's. Not. A. Bitch," I spit at him. He glares up at me and fires the edge of his palm upward into my chin. I can hear something snap and a jolt of pain sears through my neck.

It's not broken, though. Keep going.

"You're. A. Bitch," I breathe. I punch him in the stomach now. He seems prepared, though, retaliating with an elbow aimed at my mouth. I'm back on the ground, and this is when I can feel a teacher dragging me up to my feet.

"_What_ is going on here?" he asks, not expecting a response. "You, come with me." His fingers close around my wrist, he leads me into the school. I turn around and see Eddie being hauled off by another teacher.

I tongue around my mouth and realize that there's something missing. My tongue frantically scans my teeth and freezes on a vacant spot. I lost a tooth. Should I tell the teacher? What good would it do? Who wants a tooth that's been lying on the pavement, anyway? I glance back and my eyes just barely catch a faint glimmer of white. Over near the swing set.

It's a molar. Nobody's gonna miss it. Kiss it good-bye.

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**taintedtruffle: **thanks! glad you liked it :)

**Sarah: **thanks too! sorry it took me so long to update /

**MissDepp4eva: **thanks! this update is kinda short, but i'm hoping that the whole shorter chapter-quicker update thing will work out :)

* * *

"I _can't _believe it!" Mom's not happy. "You've never been in a fight before, baby. Why now? What happened?"

"A kid got me mad."

"Which kid?"

"A kid."

I can hear Dad chuckle from the living room. He's watching an old rerun of _The Simpsons_, so I don't know if he's laughing at my response or Homer's drunken stupidity.

"Well, I can't see why anyone would want to hurt you, my little guy." She presses a frozen bag of peas up against my already-black eye. I don't see how the side dish will help my bruised cheekbone. "Did this kid do anything else to you that I should know about?"

Yeah, he knocked out my tooth. "No."

"He better not have."

"He didn't."

"Good."

* * *

"Mom, do I really need to—"

"Keep the peas on your face until I say so." With that, she grabs her purse, announces to Dad that she's going to pick up a pizza we ordered earlier, and leaves.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, leaning on my elbow. These damn peas are so uncomfortable. I wonder how long it'll take kids at school to start shunning me. Or maybe they'll congratulate me. Or maybe nothing will change.

The TV snaps off suddenly, and I hear my dad drag himself up from the couch with a slight moan. He struts into the kitchen and looks me over. He nods slightly, in approval.

Did you stick it to him?

"Yeah. I think so."

You think so?

"I know so."

He laughs and ruffles my hair. Atta boy. Hey, let's go out.

"Right now?"

Yeah. Some father/son bonding time.

"What about Mom? And the pizza?"

He scoffs. I can show you a better time than a goddamn box of pizza. Now let's go.

We drive down the street for a few minutes, and right as we pass the grocery store, I can see Mom's car stopped at an intersection. I wonder if she can see us.

She won't know we're gone until she gets home, Dad tells me. Besides, I left her a note.

"A note?"

Telling her where we'd be. He turns in the driver's seat and grins at me. Seems like the most responsible thing to do, doesn't it?

"Yeah."

I thought so, too.

A few minutes later, I press my face up against the glass of the window and the words "Lou's Tavern" come into focus. They're bright neon green; they hurt my eyes. Before I know it, we're in a parking spot.

"Dad, I thought you said I wasn't allowed here."

Dad shrugs. Think of it as…bring your son to work day. Now come on, let's go, or we'll miss all the good shit.

As he leads me into the bar, I steal a quick glance back at our parking space. It's a handicapped spot.

"Uh, Dad, we're parked—"

Relax. Nobody's gonna need that spot tonight, anyway.

"Oh."

Oh is right. Now come on, you're in for one hell of a night.


End file.
